


Kairos

by gemjam



Series: Kairos [1]
Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: D/s, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-07
Updated: 2014-02-07
Packaged: 2018-01-11 13:25:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1173586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gemjam/pseuds/gemjam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mark would trust Jenson with anything, but that doesn't mean he can find the words to ask for this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kairos

**Author's Note:**

> My eternal gratitude to zeraparker for all of her help and encouragement with this.
> 
> Word definition taken from [otherwordly](http://other-wordly.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Set in the 2012 season summer break.

_Kairos_  
_Origin: Greek_  
_(n.) the perfect, delicate, crucial moment; the fleeting rightness of time and place that creates the opportune atmosphere for action, words, or movement; also, weather_

 

Mark thinks this is the last place in the world he should be right now.

The bike trail had been long and hard and had come with that kind of bone deep exhaustion that brought on immense satisfaction. They’d all ended up going out for dinner which led naturally into having a couple of drinks which led, somehow, to a full scale drinking session and Jenson offering Mark his spare room. Mark was staying in his house in the south of France for a few days, but he certainly couldn’t drive himself home in this state.

And so they make their unsteady way through the picturesque streets of Monaco to Jenson’s apartment, practically falling through the doorway as they lean against one another. It’s warm, their skin slightly damp with sweat where they touch, and all Mark can think about is naked flesh, bodies pressed together. He’s half-hard, too aware of Jenson’s breath by his ear as he giggles helplessly while trying to right himself.

Mark turns his head to look at him, catching his eye, and Jenson stops laughing. His lips are parted, his features vacant but his eyes shining slightly in the dim light. Mark studies him for a moment and Jenson frowns.

“What?”

Mark moves in, pressing their mouths together. It’s not really a kiss, just a statement of intent. As he pulls back, Jenson’s arm slips from around his shoulders as he stumbles half a step back, but he catches hold of Mark’s T-shirt halfway down his back, grabbing a handful and nearly over-balancing him as well. Jenson’s hold on the material and the way he sways as he stands pulls the neckline gently against Mark’s throat and something about the feel of it makes Mark want to whimper.

He drops down to his knees before he knows what he’s doing, and certainly before Jenson knows what he’s doing. He doesn’t let go of Mark’s T-shirt quickly enough and nearly topples right over with him. He belatedly releases his grip and the counter-momentum sends him reeling backwards to connect with the wall a couple of steps behind him.

Mark stays where he is, on his knees, watching. Jenson just watches him back, gaze hazy and confused. Mark can see the questions start to form in his mind and he loses his nerve, moving forwards and lifting his hands to rest on Jenson’s hips. He looks up again, meeting Jenson’s eyes, and Jenson smiles with a breath of laughter, his hands finding their way between Mark’s to unfasten the button on his jeans. Mark beats him to the zipper and together they tug the material down over his hips, his cock springing free.

He’s not hard but it doesn’t seem to put him off, wrapping a hand around his dick and wanking himself determinately. Mark’s eyes flick between the movement of his hand and the look on his face, his head tipping back against the wall with a little moan. Mark licks his lips, his own cock hard and throbbing in his pants, impatience making him shift slightly on his knees. The movement seems to capture Jenson’s attention. His head tips forwards, chin resting on his chest, and his hand slips away, dick standing up proudly inches from Mark’s face. It’s the closest thing to an invitation Mark’s going to get.

He moves his head forward, eyes still locked with Jenson’s, and sticks his tongue out, licking wetly around the head of Jenson’s cock. Jenson groans and his head falls back again, hitting the wall with a dull little thud. Mark stills, keeps watching him, but it becomes clear that Jenson has no intention of looking at him again.

With a sigh he opens his mouth wider, wrapping his lips around Jenson’s cock and sliding down his length. Jenson groans again, his hips lifting from the wall, and Mark feels encouraged. He stops himself from taking Jenson in too deep, hoping it will make Jenson seek him out, make him fuck Mark’s mouth, but his hips just sort of fidget distractedly and he moans, head falling to the side. Mark lets him slip from his mouth, sitting back on his heels. That, at the very least, gets Jenson’s attention. He looks down at Mark, confusion written over his face.

“You can’t just fucking stop,” he says. “Okay, you can, but shit!”

Mark stares at him, licking over his own lips, trying to taste Jenson there. They’re drunk, he can ask, the worst Jenson can do is laugh in his face and then hopefully not remember it the next day. He has no idea how to form the words though and, drunk or not, it feels too risky.

Jenson slides down the wall, landing with a bump on his arse, his legs splayed out either side of Mark. “Is that it?”

Mark looks down at Jenson’s hands, resting idly in his lap. He reaches forward, picking one of them up and placing it on his head. He looks into Jenson’s eyes, pleading with him, needing to feel those fingers closing in his hair, gripping tightly, needing to feel his mouth dragged back down to that cock, being made to take it. Jenson just stares back at him, a dopey expression on his face, his hand resting on top of Mark’s head like a useless, heavy weight. Mark squeezes Jenson’s hand with his own, a last attempt to encourage him. Nothing. He pushes Jenson’s arm away and gets to his feet, heading for the guest room and throwing himself face down on the bed.

A few moments later he hears footsteps and then Jenson flops down on the bed beside him. Their faces are inches apart and Mark feels like he could get drunk just from Jenson’s breath.

“Hi,” Jenson says.

“Hi,” Mark returns glumly.

Jenson considers him for a moment. “What was that?” Mark shrugs, his whole body shifting against the bed with the movement. “You’re not gonna finish then?” Jenson asks, a smile lifting up the corners of his mouth, a teasing twinkle in his eye.

“Fuck off,” Mark tells him, screwing his own eyes shut.

Jenson shifts beside him, body nudging against Mark’s. “You started it,” he murmurs, mouth shifting along Mark’s jaw. Mark tries not to shiver at the feel of warm breath and damp lips catching against his stubble.

Jenson mumbles something that Mark doesn’t catch and then he clambers on top of Mark’s body, hard cock pressing against Mark’s arse. Mark presses his hips upwards to rub against him, feeling too hot already. Jenson’s hands slide up his forearms, fingers intertwining with Mark’s where they lay on the pillow either side of his head, pushing his hands downwards, making Mark whimper.

“Yeah?” Jenson asks, grinding his hips downwards.

Mark feels dizzy. He turns his face into the pillow and Jenson’s lips move over the back of his neck, making Mark feel ticklish and squirmy. Jenson presses his hips down again, groaning at the feel of it, his hands tightening around Mark’s fingers. Mark can’t move, feels like he’s suffocating. He’s stuck between revelling in the power Jenson has over him and despairing at the fact that he has no fucking clue what he’s doing. He’s not sure if he should feel bad about using this to fuel a fantasy or hurt that Jenson is obliviously using him to get off. Jenson’s right though, he started it. He could stop it too, but he knows he won’t.

Jenson rocks against him, licking at the side of Mark’s neck, nipping at the shell of his ear. “You feel good,” he murmurs. “You like that?”

Mark moans, pressing back against him, keeping his eyes shut tight and pretending that Jenson understands what he’s asked for. Jenson’s pinning him down, Jenson’s using him, Jenson doesn’t care if he comes. Mark’s not sure that counts as domination though when Jenson is just drunk and horny and thinks this is a natural continuation of a blowjob that had nothing to do with sex in the first place.

Jenson bites down on Mark’s neck as he comes, not hard enough to leave a bruise. Mark knows he shouldn’t be disappointed by that fact but he is. He feels the wetness against the back of his jeans as Jenson slumps against him, groaning quietly in a sleepy, disgruntled way. He rolls off Mark, laying beside him again, making a couple more noises that Mark can’t quite read. He rolls his head to the side, seeking out air, and dares to open his eyes.

Jenson is looking at him, offering him a dazed smile. Mark just stares blankly back. Jenson leans in, pushing their mouths together. He doesn’t quite line it up right but Mark closes his eyes anyway, lets himself be kissed clumsily. Jenson either loses interest or falls asleep mid-kiss, his lips stilling as his body falls away. Mark shifts against the mattress, considers his own aching cock, and decides that he probably deserves it.

He wakes in the morning to the sight of Jenson sprawled out on the bed beside him, snoring softly. He’s laid on his back, jeans and underwear halfway down his thighs, cock on display. Mark looks at it for a moment too long before forcing himself to turn away. He gathers together his things, throwing his bike in the back of the car and driving along the coastal road back to his house.

Once home he strips off his clothes on the bathroom floor, stepping beneath the hot spray of the shower. He closes his eyes as he tips his head back, unable to escape the images conjured up by his mind. He imagines what he and Jenson looked like last night, imagines what they could have looked like if Mark had just gotten up the nerve to ask. It has him hard again but he resolutely ignores it. He doesn’t want to wank over what he can’t have. As he steps out of the shower he looks over his pile of clothes, the telltale stain on the back of his jeans. What a fitting memento from last night. He throws them in the washing machine, noticing a text on his phone as he pulls it from his pocket.

_From: Jenson_  
09.52  
You left early this morning. 

Mark can’t read anything from the tone. Is he disappointed or is it a straightforward observation? Maybe he thinks Mark is rude for not leaving a note or waking him to say bye. He remembers the way Jenson was laid out on the bed, everything on display, and he knows he must have woken up the same way, alone in the guest bedroom. There would surely be no doubt in his mind as to how he got in that state, even if the exact details were hazy. Mark isn’t sure whether to take the message as an invitation or interrogation.

_From: Mark_  
10.23  
I didn’t leave early, you got up late. 

_From: Jenson_  
10.24  
If you woke me up you might have gotten a nicer send off ;) 

Mark’s stomach does an unpleasant little flip. That’s an invitation, it has to be. But then Jenson does everything with a cheeky wink and a hint of flirtation so Mark probably shouldn’t read too much into it. Still, he’s not usually quite so blatant. Mark looks down at his clothes spinning in the washing machine and he feels his hangover pressing down on him. He needs to get some exercise, sweat the toxins out. Best cure in the world.

_From: Mark_  
10.35  
You came on the back of my jeans. That’s enough of a send off thanks mate. 

He hopes his tone sounds light, even though he feels so heavy his feet drag as he walks through to the bedroom. His phone beeps in his hand before he even gets there.

_From: Jenson_  
10.36  
Maybe you should take them off next time... 

Mark swallows uncomfortably at the mental images produced by Jenson’s words. He feels too hot. Sweat out the toxins he reminds himself, changing into his cycling gear. He’ll feel much better when he’s got it all out of his system. His phone beeps again on the side, making him jump.

_From: Jenson_  
10.44  
We okay? 

Mark frowns as he stares at the display, an uncomfortable feeling crawling up his spine. What the fuck was he thinking last night? He’s not sure drunkenness is a good enough excuse anymore and Jenson’s concern makes him far more uncomfortable than the supposed flirting did. Mark can’t handle a serious conversation about this, he’s certain Jenson will see straight through him.

_From: Mark_  
10.47  
Why wouldn’t we be? 

_From: Jenson_  
10.47  
That’s what I’m trying to work out. 

With a frustrated huff Mark shoves the phone back on the side, deciding he doesn’t need any distractions when he’s out riding. He grabs the bike from where it’s still shoved in the back of his car and sets off on the familiar trail that takes him parallel to the sea. There’s nothing like sea air to clear the brain and cleanse the lungs. Sometimes Mark wishes that he lived down here all the time, in the warm sunshine, the beach a stroll away, but there’s something about his grounded life in England that he just can’t pull away from.

By the time he returns his body feels alive again and his mind is settled into a more positive groove. He jumps back in the shower, washing the sweat quickly from his body, and throws on a T-shirt and shorts before heading through to the kitchen, his appetite truly roused by the bike ride. He starts to gather things together on the kitchen counter when there’s a knock at the door. He frowns slightly, walking across the room to open it. He freezes when he finds Jenson stood in front of him.

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

“Came to see you,” Jenson replies. “You sounded... Thought maybe we should clear the air. In person.”

Mark considers him for a moment, his pale face, the hint of red around his eyes. “You look like shit, mate.”

Jenson nods. “Had to pull over to throw up on the side of the road on the way here.”

“Classy,” Mark says, stepping out of the way to let Jenson inside. He considers his food and then grabs a bottle of water from the fridge, handing it to Jenson.

“Thanks, man,” Jenson says.

Mark just shrugs, leading him through to the living room. “We need to clear the air?” He flops down onto the sofa, Jenson sitting carefully down beside him.

“I had quite a lot to drink last night,” Jenson says, wincing slightly as he takes a tentative sip from the bottle. He replaces the cap. “But I seem to remember...” He frowns, licking his lips, before looking at Mark again. “Maybe humping you like a horny dog?”

Mark nods, trying to keep a straight face. “Pretty accurate description, mate.”

“Weirdly though, I don’t think that was the strange part of the evening,” Jenson continues.

Mark feels his face drop and he tries to hide it by scratching over his stubble. “No?”

Jenson looks at him carefully before letting out his breath as a sigh. “You sucked my cock, right? That happened too.”

Mark shrugs. “Briefly.”

“Yeah,” Jenson agrees. “And then you...” He squints slightly, like he’s trying to see inside Mark’s brain, read his motives. Mark shifts uncomfortably under the scrutiny. “Look, I’ve gotten off in more questionable ways with people I liked a lot less, but that’s not really what this is about, is it?”

“Isn’t it?” Mark asks. He can feel his cheeks colour and he wants to sink down into the sofa cushions and disappear.

Jenson looks confused, or maybe like the room is still spinning around him. “Okay, I’m sorry if I crossed the line last night, I guess I got it wrong, but you were kind of sending me mixed signals. Not that I’m trying to justify it, I’m not, there’s no excuses, but you didn’t say stop. You didn’t really tell me to keep going either though.”

“I didn’t want you to stop,” Mark says, his voice quiet, his eyes cast downwards. He feels a twisting in his gut at the thought of Jenson blaming himself for this.

“No?” Jenson asks, the single word filled with so much uncertainty.

“No,” Mark confirms.

“Because you didn’t exactly join in,” Jenson points out.

“That’s because I wanted...” Mark begins, but he realises he really can’t say those words, not even to put Jenson’s mind at ease.

“Wanted what?” Jenson’s leaning into him and the words are surprisingly gentle, so much so that they make Mark want to fold to him. Instead he just shakes his head, still staring down at his own lap. “You can tell me,” Jenson assures him. “Come on, it can’t be any worse than what I ended up doing.”

“I liked what you ended up doing,” Mark tells him.

“But...” Jenson prompts, a note of hope in the invitation, and Mark realises he’s not going to get this chance again. They opened a door last night, a possibility stretching between them, and Mark can either take advantage of that fact or he can let it slip through his fingers forever.

The thought of telling Jenson, of actually asking for this while he’s sat on his sofa in the middle of a day having a slightly loaded but reasonably normal conversation makes him flush from head to toe, turning him into a sweaty mess of anxiety. The price is too high, he has to let this go. The thought of closing this part of himself off seems like an impossibility though. Control has always been such an important part of his life and the more high pressure his racing became the more he looked into ways to not let it consume him, and this one in particular spoke to some deep down part of him in such a way that he felt like maybe he was born to it.

He’d never acted on that; he’d never found anyone who fit the role for him. He couldn’t quite remember now when he started seeing that potential in Jenson. They trusted each other, they had to in this job, if you wanted to fight hard on track you had to know that you could count on the other guy, and Mark never had any doubts when it came to Jenson. It was a slow realisation really, the fact that the trust went just as deep off the track, the fact that this friendship was real and lasting and probably one of the more important things in Mark’s life, the fact that, if Mark asked, Jenson would probably say yes. At the very least, he’d get it. He knew Mark and he wasn’t one to pass judgement.

Sitting beside Jenson now though, the words don’t come easily to him. He’s wanted this for too long, a yearning that’s grown and grown, and last night it bubbled over. He either seizes hold of that or he shuts the door and walks away.

“Mark?” Jenson says, his voice soft and questioning.

Mark swallows, looking up at Jenson out of the corner of his eye before focussing back down at his fidgeting hands in his lap. “I, uh, I was...” He trails off, shaking his head. He has to fucking say it before the time limit on this opportunity runs out. He takes a breath, determination firing something up inside him. “I didn’t join in because I wanted you to, I mean I was hoping you’d, oh for fuck’s sake.” He leans forwards, burying his face in his hands.

Jenson gives a tiny breath of laughter. “Spit it out, Webber.”

Mark turns his head to look at him, trying to glare, but Jenson just looks relaxed and open and like he really wants to hear what Mark has to say, and isn’t that why Jenson is the one Mark wants to say this to?

“Alright,” he says, the word muttered almost reluctantly, like Jenson’s honesty has forced him into this but he’s not going to be grateful for it. He can be such a fucking child sometimes. “The reason I wasn’t quite so forthcoming in the bedroom is because that wasn’t exactly what I had in mind when I... started that whole thing.”

Jenson nods. “Yeah, I got that much,” he agrees. “Want to maybe share what you did have in mind? Because I’m a little lost over here.”

Mark sighs, a noise of irritation, even though it’s not Jenson’s fault he needs it spelling out for him. “I wanted you to... take control.”

Jenson looks thoughtful for a moment. “Well, you seemed to know what you were doing, it would have been rude to interrupt.”

“It really wouldn’t,” Mark assures him.

Jenson frowns more deeply. “I’m not sure I’m following.” Mark looks away. It was stupid of him to think he could actually put this into words. “When you stopped, I... didn’t I take control?” Jenson asks uncertainly.

“Mate, forget it,” Mark says, shaking his head.

“Is that not what you wanted?” Jenson asks. “Because I thought the problem was that I hadn’t stopped to ask. I thought I was the one with the boundary issues here, now you’re telling me I should have, what?”

“Forget it,” Mark says again, leaning back into his hands, hiding his face behind them.

“No,” Jenson says firmly, and something about his tone talks to that deep down part of Mark he’s trying so hard to deny. “Mark, if I fucked up our friendship, I’d at least like to understand it. You’re not usually so shy and retiring when someone’s pissed you off.”

“You didn’t piss me off,” Mark tells him. “And you didn’t fuck our friendship.”

“Then fucking talk to me,” Jenson demands.

“ _That_ ,” Mark says, moving a hand away from his face to gesture towards Jenson. “I wanted that.”

“You wanted me to yell at you like an impatient arsehole?” Jenson asks, sounding lost again.

Mark rolls his eyes, lifting his hand back up to hide his face. He couldn’t have turned this into more of a disaster if he tried and he wants nothing more than to just disappear.

“Okay, so the shouting works?” Jenson asks. “Fine. I’ll yell and you can talk. What the fuck is your problem, Mark?”

Mark feels a slight flare of something but he knows there’s no real fire behind the words and it seems embarrassing that Jenson has to fake it. He tries to think of what he can say to just get Jenson to leave him alone.

“Fuck this,” Jenson mutters. Mark feels him move and then his wrists are grabbed harshly, pulled away from his face, and Mark feels his cheeks flush at the sudden surge of arousal. “Talk to me,” Jenson insists.

“This,” Mark says, his voice suddenly quiet and meek. “I wanted this.”

“What’s this?” Jenson asks, still sounding lost, but there’s a desperation there now, a need to understand.

Mark swallows self-consciously, tugging slightly at one of his wrists to test the hold but Jenson doesn’t let go. He stares for a moment, his breath coming out shuddery “I wanted you to make me. Like this.”

“Make you what?” Jenson asks.

Mark shrugs. “Do whatever you want.”

Jenson lets go of his wrists, moving back to look at him. Mark watches him out of the corner of his eye, the thoughtful look on Jenson’s face. “So, make you in a romance novel sweeping you up in my arms and having my way with you kind of way, or...”

The words hang there and Mark looks down again. “I was on my knees, wasn’t I?”

Jenson nods. “Or,” he confirms to himself. He shifts on the sofa, pulling his legs up to curl underneath him, his gaze not leaving Mark as he unscrews the cap on his bottle again, taking another sip of water. He rubs a hand over his face and Mark feels sorry for him.

“You’re regretting coming over now, aren’t you?”

“No,” Jenson says, the word sounding carefully considered. “I’m just thinking.” He sips from the water bottle, swilling it around in his mouth, and he looks like he’s trying to buy himself some time.

“I won’t be offended if you leave,” Mark tells him. “We can just pretend this never happened. All of it. I think I’m going to go back to England early, anyway.”

“Don’t do that,” Jenson tells him. “No, I just, my head hurts, that’s all. I think I killed a few brain cells last night, I’m not sure I have the mental capacity for this right now.”

Mark nods, thinking it’s just another way for Jenson to tell him he’s going to run away; the polite, British way.

“Can I borrow your bed?” Jenson asks.

Mark looks up at him, confused. “What for?”

“Power nap,” Jenson says. “Hangover is catching up with me all over again.”

Mark considers him for a moment. “Your pores are leaking alcohol. You can use the guest room.”

“Thanks,” Jenson says, giving him a slight look before getting to his feet.

“Second door on the left,” Mark tells him, earning a wave in response as Jenson heads up the stairs.

As he disappears from view Mark sighs, sagging against the sofa cushions. He feels a little shaky, unsettled, like everything is slightly off kilter. He pushes the feeling away, getting to his feet and returning to the food he’d taken out for his lunch. He’s not really hungry anymore though and he ends up standing at the kitchen counter picking at it while he stares out of the window.

He returns to the living room, his mind a blank where he’s trying not to think about all the things that just happened. He’s not sure where he stands with Jenson now, doesn’t have a clue what’s going to happen when he eventually comes back down those stairs, and so he tries not to think about it, tries not to second guess himself, tries to accept that it’s out of his hands now.

He puts the TV on, flicking through channels and not really watching much. He gets interested in a tennis match which passes some time, but his mind keeps wandering and he finds it hard to keep up with the score. When he hears the sound of the shower running upstairs his palms begin to sweat and he tells himself it’s just the muggy afternoon air. He gets up, throws open the patio doors to let the gentle breeze filter through, taking a deep breath as he leans against the doorway. He stays there until he hears footsteps on the stairs over the sound of the tennis match still being played out behind him, trying to steady his breathing before turning around.

Jenson is wearing a T-shirt that Mark recognises as his own and a pair of black boxer briefs. Mark tries not to stare but part of him feels like it must be an invitation. Besides, seeing Jenson in his clothes makes Mark feel like a little bit of Jenson maybe belongs to him.

“My clothes stank, I borrowed a T-shirt, I hope you don’t mind,” Jenson says.

“No,” Mark replies absently. “That’s normal, isn’t it? Going into somebody’s bedroom and stealing their clothes.” He scans his eyes more deliberately over Jenson’s body. “Couldn’t find any trousers to fit your stumpy legs?”

Jenson gives him a look, flopping down on the sofa and switching the TV off with the remote. “Get over here.”

Mark turns back to the garden, trying to hide the way his face flushes at the instruction. “Have we started, or can I still tell you to fuck off?”

“You can always tell me to fuck off,” Jenson states. “Even if I’ve got you tied to the bed, you can still tell me to fuck off. I’d like to see you make me though.”

Mark tightens every muscle in his body to try and clamp down on the shudder that threatens to pass through him. He’s not entirely sure he’s successful.

“That’s on your list then?” Jenson asks. “Bondage?” Mark shrugs. “Come sit with me,” Jenson requests, his voice softer now. Mark turns to look at him, still leaning his weight against the doorway like he’s not quite sure he can hold himself up. Jenson gestures with his phone. “I Googled some stuff. It was pretty educational.” Mark looks down at the floor, his face aflame now. He shoves his hands into his pockets. “There’s... a lot of variants though. I mean, if we’re going to do this, you’re going to need to narrow it down for me.”

Mark looks up through his eyelashes. “We’re going to do this?”

Jenson shrugs. “Come here.”

Mark pushes himself away from the door, keeping his eyes on the floor as he crosses the room. He can feel Jenson looking at him as he sits down beside him on the sofa, keeping a subtle gap between them. There’s a silence and Mark knows he’s not going to be the one to break it.

“Okay” Jenson eventually says. “So, bondage is a tick. And the kneeling, is that like a kneeling before your master kind of thing or more of a preference when you give blowjobs?”

Mark gives him an incredulous look. “You can’t just _ask_ this stuff, mate.”

“Then how am I supposed to find out?” Jenson asks.

“JB, you can’t just sit down with someone and ask them to spill all of their darkest secrets, things they’ve never told anyone, things they don’t even let themselves think about unless they’re alone with the lights off and their hand down their pants.”

Jenson seems to consider this for a moment. “Good point.”

He moves with such swiftness and grace that Mark doesn’t realise what’s happening until Jenson is straddling his lap, a heavy weight on his thighs. Mark presses himself back against the sofa cushions, feeling incredibly self conscious.

“Uh.”

“Shhh,” Jenson soothes, leaning in to brush his lips against Mark’s. Mark’s eyes fall shut and, as Jenson’s lip touch his again, Mark can feel him smiling. “Back to basics then,” Jenson murmurs against him, one hand running through his hair, the other hooking around the back of his neck. Mark parts his lips easily, thoughtlessly, and Jenson playfully nips his bottom lip with his teeth before sliding his tongue inside.

The kiss feels persuasive rather than forceful but Mark feels himself surrender to it all the same. He lets Jenson tip his head back to deepen the kiss, his own arms going around Jenson’s torso, hands closing in the fabric of his shirt. He murmurs a noise of approval, pulling himself closer to Jenson’s warmth despite the fact that he feels too hot already, but Jenson’s hand slips from his neck to his shoulder, pushing him back against the sofa cushions, keeping the slight gap between them.

Pulling their mouths apart, Jenson leans back, and Mark feels like it’s a punishment for asking too much. He opens his eyes, looking up at Jenson who just looks back, calm and confident as ever, his fingers tickling over Mark’s scalp through his hair. Mark hums happily in response. Jenson grinds his hips downwards, rubbing himself against Mark’s cock, smirking as Mark’s eyes half-close, a deep groan getting caught in his throat. Jenson does it again, a little more insistently, before leaning in close, lining his mouth up with Mark’s ear.

“Tell me your dirty little fantasies,” he whispers, his voice almost gleeful at the prospect. Mark shakes his head. “Come on. You have to tell me what you want or how will I know what to do with you?”

“Anything you want, I told you,” Mark murmurs, closing his eyes, wanting Jenson’s mouth on his again.

“I want to know what you want,” Jenson says.

He grinds his hips down again, licking his way over Mark’s jaw until he reaches his mouth, kissing him deeply, making Mark groan. It feels obscene, the slide of tongues, the wet sucking sounds. Mark hitches his own hips upwards and then wonders if that’s allowed. Jenson doesn’t stop him and so he does it again, his grip on Jenson’s T-shirt so tight it turns his knuckles white. Jenson’s body shifts back slightly but his mouth doesn’t leave Mark’s, his hand going down between them and finding Mark’s hard cock, squeezing the outline of it through his shorts. Mark moans and bucks up into the touch, barely noticing when Jenson’s mouth leaves his again.

“Tell me,” Jenson requests, still massaging his cock with one hand, his breath hot against the side of Mark’s face.

“What?” Mark gasps.

“Anything,” Jenson says.

Mark can’t even begin to comprehend the enormity of _anything_ , can’t narrow it down in his brain, can’t think of anything but Jenson’s hand on his cock, hot through the fabric of his shorts, Jenson’s weight on his thighs, Jenson’s mouth so close to his own. Nothing else exists as far as he’s concerned and the last thing he wants to do is switch his brain on and ruin it.

Jenson seems to sense this, sitting back in an attempt to get his attention. “Tell me what you wanted me to do last night,” he prompts. Mark stares at him, frozen under his gaze. “Come on,” Jenson encourages, his voice close to a whine as he leans in again, dipping his head to kiss the side of Mark’s neck. “Tell me.”

Mark shifts uncomfortably under him, tilting his head away, hunching his shoulders up. He doesn’t want to talk, doesn’t want to think, he just wants to feel. Jenson chases him, nipping at his jaw line with his teeth, and Mark leans forwards, pressing his face into Jenson’s shoulder. He breathes in, trying to inhale him, but he’s freshly showered and wearing Mark’s shirt so he doesn’t seem to smell like anything. It makes Mark press his face into the material more insistently, knowing there must be a trace of Jenson somewhere.

“You got down on your knees,” Jenson prompts, taking Mark back there in his head; Jenson’s apartment, too much alcohol in his veins, making everything feel risky. “Then what?”

Mark screws his eyes shut. “You grab my hair.”

“Like this?” Jenson asks, his fingers tightening in the strands, pulling Mark’s face away from his shoulder and pinning him back to the sofa.

Mark’s eyes fly open, staring wide. He tries to nod but he realises he can’t, not with the hold Jenson has on his hair. “Yeah,” he says instead, mouth dry, heart pounding.

“Okay,” Jenson agrees. “Then what?”

Mark’s eyes flick away but there’s no way to escape. He feels too on display, panting and needy, Jenson’s eyes constantly searching for something Mark thought he wanted so badly to give him but suddenly can’t seem to let go of. He tugs slightly against Jenson’s hold in his hair, making a disgruntled noise. The words would be so much easier to find if Jenson would just let him press his face into the material of his shirt again, hide away and slip into that part of his head that knows all the right answers to this.

Jenson presses down on his crotch more insistently, squeezing his cock, and Mark hisses, hips riding upwards, eyes darting everywhere as he tries to find something to focus on that’s not Jenson’s face right in front of him. He can’t quite face that. He screws his eyes shut, tries again to sit forward or to pull Jenson towards him, but there’s no give.

“If you do that, I can’t hear you,” Jenson says.

Mark tries to find the words to express how much he doesn’t give a fuck but he can’t even manage that. Suddenly Jenson lets go of him, Mark’s head falling limply backwards, his hips riding up to seek out Jenson’s touch. Jenson gets to his feet, Mark opening his eyes to see him crossing the room towards the patio doors.

“Don’t,” Mark pleads breathlessly. “Wait.”

Jenson pulls the doors shut and then turns around, smirking at Mark. “What did you think I was doing?”

Mark sags in his seat, embarrassed. Jenson reaches out for the curtain by the door, fingering the sash that holds it open, clearly considering something. He unhooks it, letting the curtain fall closed, blocking the afternoon sun, making everything feel slightly hazy.

“You said bondage is a yes, right?” he says, playing with the material between his hands. Mark nods, feeling a hot flush of arousal. Jenson pouts thoughtfully, stepping towards him. “So blindfolds? That’s a...?” He looks up at Mark, waiting for a response.

“Yes,” Mark provides for him.

Jenson’s lips curl up into a smile. “Excellent.” He moves swiftly, straddling Mark’s lap again. Mark closes his eyes obediently before Jenson presses the fabric against his closed lids, reaching behind him to tie it snugly fastened. “There,” he says, and Mark can hear the satisfaction in his voice. He reaches down, fingers playing with the button on Mark’s shorts. “You tell me to stop, I’ll stop,” he says.

“Okay,” Mark agrees.

Jenson waits for a moment, giving him a chance to object before he slips the button open, pulling down the zip. He tugs the shorts open and then pauses. “No underwear?” he asks. “Bit slutty.”

“Relaxing,” Mark says, his voice defensive. After a workout and a shower, he had a lazy afternoon planned and company wasn’t on his agenda. Besides, Jenson can’t complain with his current state of undress.

“Are you relaxed now?” Jenson asks, his voice teasing as his hand slides inside Mark’s shorts. Mark gasps as it closes around his cock, pulling it out, stroking it in long, firm pulls. “I grab your hair,” Jenson reminds him, raking the fingers of his other hand through it. “What next?”

“Hold me,” Mark says, realising too late it sounds like a pathetic, romantic request. His intentions couldn’t be further from the truth. He takes a breath, puts himself back there, on the floor in front of Jenson, and tries to recapture it. He licks his lips, Jenson’s hand slipping from his hair, nails scraping over his neck. “Fuck my mouth,” Mark manages to say. “Use me.”

“That’s hot?” Jenson asks. Mark nods his head. “Hmm,” Jenson says, like he’s considering it. “Keep going.” Mark makes a disgruntled noise. “You stop, I stop,” Jenson warns him, his hand stilling on Mark’s dick and it seems to throb all the more painfully because of it.

“Please,” Mark says, an automatic response that’s not even particularly heartfelt.

Jenson moves closer, his heat oppressive as his body presses against Mark’s. “Please comes later,” he says, the words whispered into his ear, making Mark shiver. He sits back again. “I’m bored of you sucking my cock,” he says offhandedly. “What do I do next?”

Mark can hear his own breaths, heavy and ragged, and it embarrasses him. The blindfold frees something up in him though and even though he knows Jenson can still see him, he doesn’t have to deal with what he sees, doesn’t have to look back, doesn’t have to feel so judged. All that’s in front of him is blackness and it makes the images in his head so much more vivid.

“You tell me to strip,” he says. Jenson’s hand starts moving again, a reward for his response. Mark pauses for a moment, appreciating it. “You watch, hungry eyes, and then...”

So many things, he can’t narrow it down, he wants them all. He wants to be fucked on Jenson’s floor, he wants to be played with until he’s on the brink of coming and then cruelly denied, he wants to be made to play with himself while Jenson watches over him, that smirk playing constantly over his lips.

“Then?” Jenson prompts.

Mark shakes his head, overwhelmed. Jenson’s hand stills. He leans in close to Mark again, lips moving over his neck, his jaw.

“I Googled BDSM,” he says, nipping at Mark’s earlobe. “That took me to a lot of interesting places. Made me hard. Got myself off in your shower actually.”

“Fuck,” Mark grits out, unable to stop himself imagining it.

Jenson squeezes his cock. “I like it. Some of it a lot. I like the thought of you doing whatever I say. That’d be a novelty in itself. I definitely like the whole kneeling, begging for your face to be fucked thing. And I like the thought of pinning you to the bed and feeling all that power beneath me and knowing I could do whatever I wanted with you and you’d say thank you.” Mark whimpers. “Am I close?” Jenson asks. Mark nods his head frantically. “Good.” He shifts backwards, grabbing for Mark’s hands, pulling at him. “Then stand the fuck up and follow my lead.”

Mark allows himself to be tugged to his feet, feeling unsteady and slightly disorientated as he stands. Jenson keeps hold of both of his hands, walking him carefully across the room. Mark knows the layout, visualises the route in his head, but he finds he’s still totally reliant on Jenson. As they get to the stairs he feels Jenson step up ahead of him and he tries to reach out for the banister but Jenson won’t allow it, his grip on Mark’s hands tightening. Mark gives in, letting himself be led up the stairs, the two of them falling into a rhythm, one careful step at a time.

The level surface of the landing is easier and it’s not long before Mark feels himself guided to sit on the edge of his bed. Jenson doesn’t say anything to him as he reaches for the hem of Mark’s T-shirt, pulling it over his head, a moment of awkwardness stalling things at it gets stuck on the knot of his blindfold. Mark keeps his eyes screwed tightly shut in case it comes off but Jenson manages to remove the T-shirt without further incident. He then grabs the waistband of Mark’s shorts, Mark lifting himself from the bed as he tugs at them, helping him remove them as best he can.

And then he is naked and he’s fairly confident that he’s the only one. He’s not quite sure how he feels about that. It gives him that owned feeling that he wanted, makes him feel like property, like a sex toy, like a good time. It makes his cheeks heat and his cock throb and his breaths come out ragged and uneven.

“Lie down,” Jenson tells him, his voice difficult to read. “And hold onto the headboard. Don’t move.”

Mark nods his agreement, sliding back further on the bed, the moment his feet leave the floor feeling somehow monumental. He aims for the middle of the bed but he’s not quite sure how he’s positioned as he reaches upwards above himself, holding onto the wooden spindles that make up the headboard. The bed came with the house and Mark has never liked it, the ridges sticking in his back when he tries to read in bed, but he suddenly has a whole new level of respect for it.

The bed dips as Jenson climbs on beside him, fingertips sliding up his thigh, a ticklish touch that Mark’s certain is designed to tease. His hand continues upwards, over his belly, before he grips a nipple between his thumb and forefinger, squeezing before giving a twist. Mark whines and shakes his head.

“I thought we were doing what I wanted, not what you wanted,” Jenson says, leaning down to wrap his lips around the nipple, sucking it firmly before scraping his teeth over it. Mark arches up off the bed, gripping the headboard more firmly in an attempt to keep himself still. “Wait ‘til I’m doing that to your cock,” Jenson murmurs.

Mark groans, unsure anymore whether it’s a complaint or an invitation. Jenson smiles against his flesh and then suddenly he’s straddling Mark’s hips, underwear pressing against Mark’s naked cock, T-shirt uncomfortable against Mark’s chest. Jenson leans down, kissing his neck, sucking on the skin, making pleased noises into his flesh. All of it makes Mark feel lightheaded and so needy. Jenson’s mouth finds his, kissing him deeply, so demanding and unforgiving, and Mark just tries to ride it out, every swipe of tongue and nip of teeth seeming to fuel the pressure wound so deep inside him. Jenson presses down more firmly with his hips, circling them, grinding against Mark, and Mark gasps, gripping tighter still to the headboard until he feels like the wooden spindles might snap off in his hands.

“ _Please_.”

“Still not time for please,” Jenson tells him.

He moves back and Mark feels bereft until he hears the rustle of fabric and knows that Jenson’s shirt is gone. He lifts himself from Mark’s body, stripping his underwear, and when he lays back down on top of Mark, no barriers, Mark feels so connected and overwhelmed.

Jenson thrusts against him, his breaths damp and desperate against Mark’s neck. Mark’s whole body feels stretched out too taut but he somehow finds the movement in his hips to thrust back, lifting his hips as much as the tight grip of Jenson’s thighs allows, rubbing himself frantically against him. Jenson gasps against him, baring his teeth, gripping Mark’s shoulders hard as he comes against him, the hot liquid splattering over Mark’s stomach, making him more grateful than he can even comprehend, let alone express.

Jenson takes a few moments and Mark enjoys them greatly, enjoying the feel of his body coming down, the subtle changes in his muscles, in his breathing, the way he goes soft without losing that edge that Mark can sense in him. He’s still in control. The fact that he takes his time composing himself before he troubles himself with Mark seems to highlight that all the more clearly.

Mark’s arms ache, his cock aches, his whole body is practically burning with the strain and his abs are going to hurt tomorrow, but he doesn’t move. He waits. He knows how to be patient and he’s not going to rush this. If this is all he gets today he’ll say thank you and he’ll hope that Jenson liked it well enough to play with him again.

Jenson moves, his mouth lifting to Mark’s ear. “Now might be a good time for please.” His voice sounds wrecked and it’s the sexiest thing Mark’s ever heard in his life.

“Please,” he says obediently. He takes a breath, focuses on the feel of his body, the things it’s screaming out to him, puts himself truly in touch with it. “Please,” he says again, heartfelt and needy. “Jenson, fuck, please.” He rocks his hips upwards with a needy groan as if that will somehow sell Jenson on his case.

“Please what?” Jenson asks. “What do you want?”

Mark wants to call Jenson a lot of things in that moment but none of them would get him an orgasm. “Get me off,” he says instead, his inflection making it close to a question.

“How?” Jenson asks, his voice infuriatingly earnest like he genuinely has no idea.

“Don’t care,” Mark says, knowing his irritation is showing. “Hand. Whatever. Mate, _please_.”

“Hand,” Jenson repeats. “I have two of those.”

He moves, shoving Mark’s thighs apart and Mark opens them willingly to him, no room for shame now. Jenson settles himself between them and then wraps his hand around Mark’s cock, squeezing harshly, setting up a rhythm that seems almost unfair in its briskness. His other hand slides further back, pulling on Mark’s balls, massaging them roughly, and Mark moans helplessly, feeling it welling up inside him.

“I’ve got such a good view here,” Jenson says. “Gonna watch you come. All of you. Gonna watch your cock spurt and your body flush and shudder and your face contort while you fall apart.”

Mark groans, squeezing his eyes shut tighter, attempting to turn his face away. He feels his orgasm right there but some self-conscious part of him is holding it back, keeping it just beyond his fingertips.

“I bet you’re beautiful when you fall apart,” Jenson murmurs.

It’s almost as if the words flip a switch and Mark feels himself let go, his inhibitions flying from him as his orgasm crashes down, crying out and thrashing around but somehow managing to keep his grip on the headboard, feeling like if he lets go now he’ll get washed away with it and find himself somewhere alien when he’s finally allowed to open his eyes.

He feels Jenson’s fingers sliding over his stomach before they’re pressing at his lips. “This is me,” Jenson says.

Mark parts his lips, still feeling like he’s entirely somewhere else, barely able to suck on the come covered fingers Jenson pushes into his mouth. He hums happily around them, still dizzy when they’re pulled away from him.

“This is you,” Jenson says and Mark instinctively turns his face away from the knuckles that press against his mouth, making a disgruntled noise. “No, you don’t get to be precious with me now,” Jenson says. “Not when you go dragging me into this.” Mark relaxes slightly but he doesn’t turn back to the fingers. “Open,” Jenson prompts, his voice commanding, and Mark does so, somewhat reluctantly, letting his tongue play over the hard little bumps of Jenson’s hand. He tastes subtly different to Jenson. “Good boy,” Jenson says softly. Jenson’s hand leaves him, fingers playing over the mess of Mark’s stomach again before coming back. “And this is us.”

Mark opens his mouth, not expecting the amount of come Jenson has scooped on his fingers. Jenson wipes it over his tongue before pulling his fingers away and smashing his mouth against Mark’s, swiping his tongue over the heady, bitter liquid, making Mark feel like he could come all over again. There’s something so unbearably intimate about it, mixing it all together until it doesn’t matter who is who, only that they shared it.

Jenson finally pulls back, sliding from Mark’s body and pushing the blindfold up and out of the way, a clear signal that it’s over. Mark squeezes his eyes shut tightly, not quite sure he’s ready for the bump down to earth yet.

“You can let go,” Jenson tells him.

That hadn’t quite occurred to Mark. He releases his grip, flexing his stiff fingers, his arms tired and a little shaky. Jenson reaches out, stroking the side of his face in a way that Mark guesses it supposed to be soothing but he just finds it irritating.

“Crowding me, mate,” he complains, trying not to sound too bratty about it.

“Okay,” Jenson says easily enough, his hand falling away.

Mark keeps his eyes closed for a long time, his body wasted but his mind feeling far from restful. He plays it over in his head over and over, compares it to all the times he’s imagined things like this. It’s an impossible task but he enjoys the act of savouring it and it offers him a distraction from opening his eyes and dealing with the aftermath of the reality.

“I think you want me to go,” Jenson says. “I get that. But I don’t really want to leave you while you’re...” He trails off.

Mark cracks one eye open, looking at him sideways. “I’m fine.” Jenson nods but looks unconvinced. “I’m okay,” Mark says. Jenson rolls onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. Mark sighs, opening both eyes, squinting slightly in the afternoon sunlight. “I think I might go back to England,” he says. “Just to take stock. You know?”

“I do,” Jenson agrees. He shifts again, leaning up on one elbow to look down at Mark. “I have an idea.” Mark looks at him. “Let’s call it a deal. I’ll be in Woking in six days. I want you to send me a text every day telling me something that you’re into, something that turns you on, an idea you like or even something that you absolutely don’t like. Give me a little insight into what you’re looking for, what you have in mind when you think about this. It doesn’t have to be detailed, just a word will do. You send me something every day and I’ll come visit you when I’m done at the factory. Then maybe we can try some of it out. Deal?”

Mark stares at him for a moment. He hates the thought of sitting down and going through these things, but this way he doesn’t have to say anything out loud and he gets a nice reward at the end of it. He has to admit that this feels like a safe way to do it, a word at a time, giving himself to Jenson piece by piece until he’s finally given him everything.

He nods his head. “Okay.”


End file.
